11. Ava
11
AVA
I ’ve become the master of evasion …
My life. The case. Wanting Elijah.
Just like I’m currently ignoring the news report filtering through the living room and into the bathroom, where I decide to change my playlist from a soothing jazz one to current hits. Volume up, I begin humming to the beat while turning the hot water on to almost scalding just in case they decide to discuss Jason and the case against him. Because since his arrest, I’ve heard it all, and at this point, I’d rather ignore than confront the conflicting emotions simmering within.
What journalists have pieced together since his arrest hasn’t changed much. Authorities aren’t releasing more than where he met the woman still recovering, the ties to other murders, and me .
However, with each day that passes my ire builds. Fiery licks across my nervous system without provocation, and it’s no one’s fault but the monster still on the run.
I’m angry. Sad. Feel guilty because of my attraction to the man keeping me safe.
“Not now, Ava. You need this.” Taking in a deep breath, I bring his masculine scent into my lungs and hold it there for a few seconds, letting it wash away my doubts. I need this reprieve from the torture because Elijah Ford is embedded into every inch of his home…
Sandalwood, mint, and a touch of sea salt.
It surrounds me. Haunts me. Invades my senses.
Branding my DNA with his mark, I’ve become addicted to this unique blend, looking for ways to fill my needs without openly seeking him out. Right now is a prime example of my weakness: I’m inside the hall bathroom doing something I shouldn’t.
It’s been a week since I caught Elijah unaware and napping on the couch—since he comforted me after a nightmare—and he’s completely ignorant of my newly acquired creep-like tendencies.
One, I interact while not giving anything away and avoid all topics that cause me stress.
Two, I only admire him when he’s unaware or busy.
Three, I find any excuse to escape if either point is tested.
Moreover, in those seven days, I’ve become a prisoner of my feelings and wants.
I’m insane for even contemplating anything past my survival at this moment; that’s where my focus should be, and yet it isn’t. Instead, it’s on him.
And maybe it’s because of the crazy, horror-filled ride I’m on that I cling to him, but stopping isn’t an option. He’s both a comfort and solace. Something I can hold onto, even if it is in secret and behind these four walls that I let go.
I need this release. It’s the only way.
Stepping inside the large, walk-in shower, I stand beneath the waterfall feature and let the hot water soothe my aching limbs. I’m tense, my body strung tight, and I reach for the bottle of his shower gel he left in here two nights ago.
Why? I have no clue.
Am I grateful? Absolutely.
I pour a generous amount into my loofah and shiver. From excitement. From the fear of being caught. It smells just like him as I lather myself, rubbing his scent into my skin, while the man is downstairs working out in the on-premises gym.
Lifting weights. Running. Sweat running down his defined muscles…
I’m swallowing back the whimpers fighting to slip past my lips.
Elijah goes every day for forty minutes before breakfast unless he’s working, and today, I broke down. So, while he thinks I’m sleeping, I’m taking advantage of his generosity. It’s why I didn’t change the news channel he left it on, choosing instead to indulge in the empty apartment and not risk him hearing me.
While he’s sweating and flexing and being hotter than sin, I’m taking the edge off.
It also helps to know that I’m safe here. To know that Elijah has cameras pointing at the door—the only entrance to his home—so I can give in to my shame without an audience.
There’s comfort in that, something I haven’t felt in a while. I’m all alone and not panicking. Can enjoy this one minuscule selfish act.
I know that he’s always close. Elijah has proven to me with mock drills that if the worst were to ever happen, he can reach me within minutes.
The iPhone in my hand buzzes with a text, the screen lighting up with Elijah’s name.
Start the timer now. ~ Eli
K. ~ Ava
I’m standing by the front door, the timer counting down the seconds it takes him to get to me from the amenities floor of the building. Being so high up, we’ve already run the elevator route, but today, Elijah’s taking the emergency stairs. The sparkly case in my favorite shade of purple makes me smile as much as it protects my new phone, both gifts from Elijah.
This is extra protection for the times he’s not here. Eli’s been called in to work a few times now, not for long shifts, but this way, if I need to reach him or the officers monitoring the building, I’d have a way to get help.
Because you can’t run with a house phone, and I’m thankful for his thoughtfulness.
We also know this device isn’t being tracked. No one has this number but him and his boss.
When the timer hits the three-minute mark, I begin to pace the foyer. Back and forth, I’m getting a bit anxious as we close in on the next sixty-second mark, but then he’s there. Eli’s pushing the door open and raising a brow before it times him at four minutes.
“How did I do?” He’s breathing a little harder than normal, and there’s some sweat, but nothing like I expected. If it’d been me, I’d be dying on the floor, heaving and moaning in exhaustion.
“Three minutes and fifty-six seconds.”
“I can do better than that.”
“I believe you, but how about a break? I’m a little thirsty.” How couldn’t I be? His white T-shirt clings to every muscle—his pecs, and what is a clearly defined six-pack—making my mouth dry. Even his basketball shorts are sexy. The way they hang low on his hips showcasing his muscular thighs and calves…
“What are we having?”
There’s a small tinge of huskiness to Eli’s voice and my face heats up; I quickly walk past him before he takes notice, calling his name over my shoulder. “You want water or iced tea?”
“You pick. I’ll take whatever you give.”
“He’s making this so hard on me,” I groan low, one hand on the shower wall as a shiver runs through me. The man is caring, patient, and dangerously handsome. He looks good in a suit and workout clothes, but beyond the physical, there’s the fact that I trust him.
Crazy since I barely know him, yet it doesn’t make it any less true.
It’s scary and maybe idiotic, but my heart knows he’s not here to hurt me. Elijah’s a protector; he’s a pure alpha male, which creates a different dilemma...
Every cell in my body is thrumming with need. To cum with a cry of his name on my lips.
This is so wrong. I should stop.
I know I’m pushing my luck, and getting caught is not an option.
There would be no going back. How do I explain this?
And yet, I don’t stop.
Bringing both hands to my chest, I spread the suds across my sensitive skin which breaks out in goosebumps at the slightest touch. I shiver and bite my lip to fight back a moan while praying to God above that he gives me the will to stop.
Because while I’ve never physically been with a man, I do have needs. The desire to give in and find relief, to satisfy the urge that this man—Detective Ford—creates, is heady. Days on end of lust have made me weak.
I also don’t have a vibrator here to help me. Just a tiny swipe of a pulsing toy would send me over the edge, a beautiful fall into an abyss I so desperately need.
“Elijah…” It leaves me on a whimper as I reach my bare mound and then lower, right over my throbbing clit and labia. I’m soft and wet, so slick as I slip a finger between my lips and part them while the heel of my palm presses against the trembling bundle of nerves. It feels good.
Sends a small pulse of pleasure down my spine and then spreads throughout my limbs.
Yet my ache intensifies. Grows with each touch.
I need more.
Pressing against my entrance, I push two fingers inside until the second knuckle and stop, savoring the way my body reacts. How tight I clamp down, and I can’t help but imagine it’s him. His cock, not my fingers.
How thick he would be.
How his hands would grip me and position me to his liking.
How I would let him.
My hips gyrate once, and then again. I want it deeper. To feel just a bit of the burn—how I would stretch around him—and I add a third finger.
At once, I tremble. I’m so close.
The heel of my palm adds pressure on each slow pump, and I can just feel my orgasm fast approaching when the door to the house slams closed.
“No,” I cry out, fighting a different set of emotions. In the blink of an eye, I go from needing to come, to rushing out. The bathroom smells of his soap and my body is thrumming with a hunger I don’t know if I can control. I need to get inside my room before I get caught or jump his bones, both high possibilities, and within seconds of the door closing, I have the water off and a towel around my body.
Not changing into the clean set of loungewear on the counter, I clutch the clothes to my chest as I contemplate the fastest way to my room. Where he’ll go first, and how to not bump into the man.
Rational? No, but I’m a one-track mind with the destination of my room as the goal.
One foot in front of the other, I open the door and rush out without thinking, not seeing what is in front of me, and I slam into a wall of muscle.
A wall with strong hands that grab onto my hips to steady me. Whose fingers dig in, pulling a tiny whimper from me as I clutch my towel with my free hand to keep it in place. This wall smells like my kind of heaven and yet beckons me to become a sinner as our eyes meet.
Heavy-lidded, his hazel eyes smolder, and my breathing hitches. He licks his lips, and I bite the inside of my cheek while taking a step back. And then another.
Every processor in my body is blaring red and telling me to abort. To run.
To remember why we can’t go there.
“Ava,” Elijah says low, the timbre of his voice flowing over my skin like a caress, his large hands clenching at his sides. “Are you?—”
“Bye!” I yell out, interrupting him. He’s looking at me, and my body can’t handle his nearness. The way his heat sears into my flesh. How good his hands felt gripping my hips.
Without a backward glance, I leave him just outside of the bathroom and rush into the room I’m occupying. I don’t stop until I’m inside and the door is closed, cursing my stupidity and obvious reaction.
He’s a temptation I can’t avoid, and it could end in disaster for us.
We can’t. Even if I want him.
Maybe I should ask for a different ? —
I stop that train of thought in its tracks. Feels wrong.
Because no matter how much I should, I won’t. There’s only him.
I want Elijah near me, even if it’s just within the same building. Same home. Protecting me.
“How the hell do I make these desires go away?”
The truth is that the answer might just be scarier than the question.